Ramblings from travels to the interior and exterior

On the Pleasures of Kamienska (Part 2)

I myself don’t know it’s being held prisoner by your skin while reaching infinity being a captive of your scrap of time while touching eternity being hopelessly uncertain and helplessly hopeful being a needle of frost and a handful of heat breathing in the air and choking wordlessly it’s being on fire with a nest made of ashes eating bread while filling up on hunger it’s dying without love it’s loving through death